


whore-or night

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:37:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Tamamori doesn’t like horror movies.





	whore-or night

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for a smut meme.

Tamamori is chilling in Kitayama’s bean bag chair when Fujigaya is dumped unceremoniously into his lap. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Fujigaya mumbles, not sounding very sorry, and Tamamori only grumbles a little as Fujigaya curls up to him. “They kicked me off the couch.”

“Because you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” Kitayama calls over, and Tamamori just raises his eyebrows because he’s squished between Yokoo and Nikaido, who is so close to Senga that Tamamori can’t tell whose limbs are whose.

“You never complained before,” Fujigaya grumbles, but Tamamori’s probably the only one who hears it.

He doesn’t even know what they’re watching, some horror movie that Tamamori is decidedly ignoring while his usual pillow is parked on the floor, staring intently at the TV. The bean bag is comfortable enough, he supposes, though Fujigaya offers body heat and doesn’t move that much.

With Fujigaya in his direct line of sight, Tamamori looks more closely than he usually does, taking in all of the features of Fujigaya’s face that shine in the bright lights illuminating from the television. Something must be happening in the movie because there are quick flashes of light and a lot of screaming—including Nikaido and Senga on the couch—but all of that takes a backseat to Fujigaya’s closed eyelids and full lips.

“You’re really pretty,” Tamamori whispers. His hand twitches to touch, but he can’t bring himself to make the effort.

Fujigaya snorts. “How drunk are you?”

“I don’t have to be drunk to think you’re pretty, Gaya,” Tamamori points out. “Just say thank you and move a bit, your bony ass is digging into my leg.”

Huffing an annoyed sigh, Fujigaya shifts first, squeezing next to Tamamori with his legs flung over Tamamori’s lap. Tamamori just stretches out underneath him, indenting the bean bag chair with his back until he can lean his head on the vinyl. He feels a hot breath on his cheek and lifts his eyes to find Fujigaya  _right there_ , and he’s even more mesmerizing up close like this.

Then Tamamori feels fingertips on his arm and breaks out in goosebumps, a small shiver coursing up his spine as Fujigaya just stares at him.

“Sorry,” Fujigaya says again, and Tamamori doesn’t have time to gauge his level of authenticity before those single lids are falling shut and Tamamori’s follow. He’s not sure which one of them actively leans forward—maybe both—but then Fujigaya’s lips are on his, kissing him slowly without moving his head.

Tamamori’s hand finds Fujigaya’s waist, sliding up his thigh to keep from having to actually pick it up, and Fujigaya rolls closer as Tamamori’s arm drapes around him. They kiss lazily, neither one even trying to speed it up even when Tamamori boldly licks his way into Fujigaya’s mouth, which pulls a low groan from Fujigaya’s throat as he parts his lips invitingly.

Those fingers drag up Tamamori’s arm and drift along his throat, making him squirm even more and tighten his grip on Fujigaya’s lower back. Fujigaya takes this as a cue to keep going, tracing the lines of Tamamori’s collarbone above his shirt and the hollows of his throat. Tamamori sees what Kitayama means by Fujigaya being unable to keep his hands to himself, though he finds himself wondering why anyone would actually want him to.

Another shiver has Tamamori kissing him harder, his body growing hotter with each flick of Fujigaya’s tongue against his, and he gasps when Fujigaya’s hand drops to his waist and slips under his shirt.

Fujigaya chuckles a little, just enough for Tamamori to feel without interrupting their kiss. Tamamori retaliates by dropping his hand enough to grab Fujigaya’s ass, which isn’t as bony as he expects, and Fujigaya’s next noise sounds both surprised and pleased.

“You two,” Yokoo’s exasperated voice rings from somewhere in the distance, and Tamamori imagines the group mother is shaking his head at them as they are both covered entirely with a blanket. “I had no idea horror movies were so arousing.”

Tamamori has something to say to that, but Fujigaya takes advantage of their quasi-privacy to trail his fingers along Tamamori’s waistline, teasing the faint hairs underneath the button of his pants. A low moan forms in his throat and dies before it reaches the air, Fujigaya’s mouth moving more than the rest of his body combined as their kiss deepens even more.

“Gaya,” he gets out, his voice a faint whisper as Fujigaya pops the button and lowers the zipper.

“Are you going to tell me to stop?” Fujigaya replies, his words a rush of air between kisses, and Tamamori can tell how worked up he is by the level of effort he’s making to open Tamamori’s pants.

“No,” Tamamori breathes in answer. “I was going to tell you to hurry up.”

Fujigaya’s laugh tickles Tamamori’s tongue, turning into a low moan when Tamamori drags his hand around Fujigaya’s waist to grope him. “Okay, okay.”

“ _Shh_ ,” Tamamori hisses, and Fujigaya shoves his hand into Tamamori’s underwear. His fingers are warm and confident, going straight for his hardening cock and swallowing the noises Tamamori threatens to make.

Absently Tamamori returns the favor, fumbling with Fujigaya’s belt so much that Fujigaya has to let go of him long enough to help out, and Tamamori’s only a little embarrassed as Fujigaya’s hips rock towards the promising touch. Eventually he gets his hand around him, stroking as much as he can manage from this angle, but Fujigaya doesn’t seem to have any complaints judging by the tiny little gasps that die on his tongue.

By now they’ve both fallen out of the kiss, but their lips stay pressed together to muffle any stray noises. The only thing moving is their wrists, barely disturbing the blanket that lay draped over them except when Fujigaya’s body jerks involuntarily. Harsh breath hits Tamamori’s skin and Fujigaya’s rhythm falters a bit, but he makes up for it by tightening his fingers and Tamamori arches as the pressure becomes too much.

Suddenly Fujigaya tears his mouth away and presses it into Tamamori’s neck, which stretches out to accommodate as Fujigaya moans quietly into his neck and pulses in Tamamori’s hand, spilling over his fingers with a sharp shudder. It’s so hot that Tamamori can’t stop himself from following, pressing his face into Fujigaya’s hair to keep from being heard as he comes.

Now Fujigaya curls up in his lap even more, bumping his nose into Tamamori’s jaw until Tamamori lowers his head to kiss him again. It’s kind of awkward with a mess on his hand, at least until Fujigaya grabs his wrist and guides him to part of the blanket that’s not touching them. They both try unsuccessfully not to laugh as they wipe their hands, then Fujigaya laces their fingers together and Tamamori loses himself in the slow, sensual kiss.

Then there’s an ear-piercing shriek from the couch and they both sit up straight, clinging to each other as the blanket falls from their faces and they see Senga burrowing into Kitayama’s chest like he’s trying to crawl inside him. Nikaido’s not that much better off, peeking out from behind Yokoo’s shoulder with a terrified expression while Miyata just sits on the floor in rapt attention.

Tamamori’s eyes wander over to the TV, where someone is in the process of being chopped up, and wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“ _You’re_  gross,” Kitayama tells him. “Fujigaya, really?”

“You’re the one who dropped him in my lap,” Tamamori replies with what is supposed to be a shrug, except that he doesn’t lift his shoulders nearly enough.

“ _Shh_ ,” Miyata hisses, looking moderately annoyed as he strains to hear the movie.

Tamamori’s eyes flutter shut as Fujigaya’s lips return to his neck, the pair of them falling back onto the bean bag chair and pulling the blanket over their heads, because this is only the beginning of the horror movie marathon.


End file.
